Chapter Fifty: The Bloodied Stranger (continued)
The council chamber felt like it was suffocating. Torches guttered against the stone walls, shadows dancing across strained faces.
The dwarf elder slammed his fist on the table, beard bristling. "We can't keep her here! You saw the man leading that rabble—he wasn't some common cutthroat. He knew what he wanted. And when he comes back, he won't come alone. He'll bring enough steel to burn the Hollow to ash!"
Fenrik snarled, tail lashing. "The elder's right. What are we doing risking everything? She's just one ogre! We should be fortifying, training, setting traps in the forest—not wasting our food and healers on her!"
A human farmer shifted nervously. "If they take her, they might leave us be—"
"They won't," Kael cut in, voice sharp.
But the words didn't stop the surge of voices.
"She'll bring ruin on us all!"
"We can't afford to bleed for strangers!"
"Exile her before they come back!"
The chamber filled with overlapping cries, voices rising until the air itself seemed to crack. Even Thalos, usually so measured, added his deep rumble: "Better to act now than risk the whole Hollow later."
Kael's jaw clenched, his crimson eyes glowing brighter and brighter. The shadows at his feet writhed like living things, crawling up the legs of the table.
Finally, with a guttural snarl, Kael slammed his fist down.
The heavy oak table cracked straight through the middle, splinters flying as the boom silenced the chamber.
Shadows surged outward in a violent wave, sending chairs skidding back and torches shuddering. Umbra let out a low, rumbling growl, his golden eyes reflecting Kael's fury.
Kael leaned forward, both hands braced on the shattered table, his voice a low growl that carried more weight than a scream ever could.
"Enough."
The word echoed, final and cold.
His gaze swept the chamber, pinning each council member in turn. "If we throw her out—if we kill her—just because she is an ogre… then you can all leave with her. Because I will not lead cowards. I will not lead hypocrites who would spit on everything we've built here."
No one spoke.
Kael's shadows twisted higher, his voice dropping into a deadly calm. "Do you think I'm afraid of them? That I'm afraid of bandits who play at being soldiers? I could tear their army apart alone. You've seen it. You know what I am capable of."
His crimson eyes burned. "But I shouldn't have to. Because this place—this Hollow—is supposed to be more than survival. It's supposed to be a home for anyone who is cast aside. For anyone hunted. If you can't see that, if you'd rather cower and hide behind walls and fear, then go. Leave. I'll face them myself."
The silence was deafening.
Fenrik's ears twitched, his jaw working furiously, but no words came. The dwarf elder's eyes darted down to the broken table, then back up at Kael, his face pale beneath the beard. The humans who had spoken shrank back in their seats, unable to meet Kael's gaze.
Only Lyria held his eyes. And for the first time that night, her lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile—not mocking, not cold. Approval.
Kael straightened slowly, letting the silence linger. His shadows settled back into his form, his eyes still glowing faintly.
"Decide now," he said, voice final. "Will you stand with me… or will you walk away?"